Under the Black Sky
by frickangel
Summary: The problem with a silver lining is that there’s always a cloud. OneShot GregSara


**Title: **Under the Black Sky  
**Author:** frickangel — **frickangel**(dot)**livejournal**(dot)**com  
Fandom: **CSI  
**Rating: **G  
**Summary:** The problem with a silver lining is that there's always a cloud. OneShot GregSara  
**A/N:** Too many songs stuck in my head. There is a **fanmix/soundtrack** made for this fic that includes the featured song in here. Head over to my livejournal (address given above or it's in my profile).  
Slight mention of CSI: NY and a couple of characters from there.  
**Credit:** Thanks to Aidrianna for her amazing beta skills.  
**Disclaimer: **Don't own, don't know and don't I wish.

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**THERE** was little left on the tables. What remained were empty bottles of sparkling juice and soda, and small bits of confetti. Not too much was used in the first place since Ecklie would've blown a gasket or a dozen if they had messed up the area. Still, that didn't stop them from celebrating and throwing a small party.

Those they had known well were all present; including some less familiar faces had dropped by and passed on their congratulations. News spreads fast amongst them and definitely faster in a lab this small.

Everyone had shuffled off along to their respective duties and responsibilities, leaving her alone with the leftovers of the celebration. Napkins, paper plates stained with fresh cream from the chocolate cake, disposable cups and utensils, and crumbs were littered across the furniture.

Resting comfortably in the old sofa of the break room, she could only watch the stationary mementos of the bash; every piece sitting there and reminding her that she was to be up and about as well. She should stop brooding over it.

No, wait—she wasn't brooding.

Dragging her body from the folds of the cushion, she pulled the cardigan down and flattened the wild strands of her hair. Pushing aside the soiled paper plates and cutlery, she tossed the objects carelessly to the side before finally picking up a clean tissue and using it to wipe off any imaginary crumbs that may still be on her hand.

Tired and frustrated at her emotional torrent, she threw the napkin away before sighing and musing over the last hour that had flew by. It was a simple enough gathering for such a sudden turn of events. She knew it was a good thing and that he had worked hard for the very moment, yet there was a part of her that wanted to strangle somebody for the bittersweet news.

She wasn't brooding all right.

She was whining like a four-year old kid.

"Grow up," she muttered to herself and wandered out of the break room. Stepping into the whirling world of the busy crime lab, she stuffed her hands into the pockets of her jeans. It took her a whole five seconds before she pulled her left side out to check the time.

Another hour before her shift was up and it looked to be another very slow night that lacked any action. Which was good in a way, she supposed; not being dispatched to a scene meant no crime. Though after finishing up reports and labelling the crime scene photographs for the past six hours, any CSI would be itching for anything at all… even a regular breaking and entering. There was only so much 'Grand Theft Auto' she could sneak out of the guys' Playstation.

Smack at the crossroads—that's where she was. No, really, it was a literal point in her life where the epiphany was getting cheesier with each footstep and here it was a real life illustration of it. She had four choices: she could go straight and end up at Grissom's office; to the left was the locker-room, a place where she could sit and wait; going back would mean sitting amongst the leftovers of the party again and being alone; and then there was turning right.

Tapping a finger against her thigh, she looked left and then right before giving into a huge sigh. Her foot made one step forward and took a 90 degree turn to the right where the elevator was. She finally decided that marching down to the cafeteria was a good idea to kill the remaining time on her clock.

Her finger punched the elevator's button, summoning it to her but patience was never one of her virtues and her feet tapped against the tiled floor. Not waiting any longer, she found herself making a beeline towards the stairs where she pushed her weight against the heavy door. Hearing the lock click back softly, she listened closely to her echoes of her breathing in the damp stairwell.

For a while, she imagined her hot breath would show small white puffs of condensation; the place was colder than she had thought. Eyeing the flight of steps up curiously, it occurred to her that it had been a while since she took in the chilly Las Vegas air from above. The ascend to the top was dark and dismal, save by the small and dim bulbs glowing on the walls. It cast her shadows eerily across the floor; an untrue image of her form as the dark reflection made her seem long and spiny.

With her heart beating faster from the slight exercise, she breathed in the cold air to calm herself. Reaching out to the doorknob, she gripped the metal piece and twisted it. In all truth, she had expected it to be bolted, but the gentle sounds of it opening told her otherwise.

It didn't take long for the night wind to bite and forced her to wrap her arms around her body. Maybe it wasn't such a wise idea to be up here. Then again, she had no idea what possessed her to think she needed to be here in the first place.

Forcing her teeth to stop chattering, she eventually looked straight ahead and over the edge of the building, staring down at the magnificent sea of lights. The reds and blues blended with the yellows and greens, creating a mash of rainbow neon lights that clashed.

"If it isn't the great Sara Sidle."

The voice that called her name was distorted by the roof's wide open space and blowing winds. In fact, it took her a while, turning from left to right and searching for the elusive person. "What are you doing up here?" she asked, finding the source of the voice and smiling at him.

"I should be asking you the exact same question."

"Fortunately for me, I asked you first," Sara walked up to his side, looking down at him as he sat with his legs dangling over the ledge. The breeze picked up and blew a few strands of hair against her face.

"Just chilling and thinking about nothing," he replied and looked out at the view again.

"The Greg Sanders I know doesn't think about nothing."

Greg chuckled at her words and kept his sights on the city. He left the silence to flow between them, interrupted only by the ever flowing sounds of vehicular horns and a distant siren from maybe an ambulance. Finally turning back to her, he flashed a lopsided grin like she always knew he would.

Taking it as some unspoken invitation, she carefully stepped up to the ledge and then seated herself right next to him. She took a few moments to adjust to the height they were seemingly hovering on, directly over the back entrance of the lab. Sara spotted a few people exiting through it, but they were like dots of colours that moved about below her feet.

"The Greg Sanders you knew grew up a while back," he confessed as he took a swig from a bottle he held.

An eyebrow rose at the suspicious drink; he seemed to have sensed it and offered it to her. Funny though, that she felt disappointed that it was only soda he was consuming and not anything alcoholic, she could have used a small sip. Overall, she was still glad it was just sugar water or else she'd be sorely tempted to break her soberness. She picked the bottle from his fingers and partook of the artificial taste of carbonated raspberry.

Satisfied with the tiny sugar rush, she offered the drink back and he accepted it. Sara then cocked her head to the side as she spotted the white earpiece in his ear and extracted it before placing it in her own. She was half expecting her eardrums to be blasted away by Marilyn Manson's hard rock but only got the gentle three-three beats of… Michael Bublé?

The look of confusion and shock must've been showing on her face as Greg laughed, gently at first and then into a full blown outburst, "I don't think I've ever seen CSI Sidle with her jaw dropped like that." He slapped his hand against his thigh while soothing his laughter, "Other than the potty blow up."

"Since when were you into music like this? Is this some kind of lame joke, Sanders?" Narrowing her eyes at him, she moved in closer to perfect her intimidation technique.

To prove his point, he lifted his iPod, clearly showing her the name and album displayed on the screen. "Gospel truth, I swear," he said still grinning, unmistakably enjoying this. "Hey! It was all Lois O'Neill's fault."

Sara retreated back slightly, but not before swiping the white device from his grasp, putting her fingers to the navigation wheel and looking through the song list. There was a whole long selection of rock, alternative, heavy metal, techno, and probably pure noise makers in the player. "Hmmm…" Spotting a song she recognised from the list, she pursed her lips and allowed them to spread into a smile.

"What?" There was actual wariness in his voice this time as he tried to stretch forward and look at the display, possibly wondering just what on earth she could've picked.

"Nothing," replying innocently and finally hitting the middle button.

Dear Mr. Bublé was suddenly cut short into nothingness, until the lazy sound of an electric guitar twanged into their ears. Then, steady drums flowed right in, beneath the lead of the expertly played string giving the whole piece a bluesy feel. Sara closed her eyes again, feeling it just fluidly sail along and letting her lips move. "_It's not a silly little moment, it's not a storm before the calm_," she mouthed the lyrics right out. "_This is the deep and dying breath of, this love that we've been working on_."

"_Can't seem to hold you like I want to, so I can feel you in my arms_."

Sara lifted her eyes upon the younger CSI, realising he wasn't only lip syncing to the words as she had, but he was actually singing it out loud. And god, he sounded horrible. "You're making John Mayer sound like a cat being strangled," she laughed and turned to face the blowing wind, feeling the cold tingle her face.

"_Nobody's gonna come and save you_," he continued on with the impromptu karaoke session, ignoring her protests and then taking back the iPod from her. "_We've pulled too many false alarms_."

She couldn't help being amused by him, no matter what. And she swayed along to the music; drowning in the jazzy groove and soulfulness of each note and word.

Greg was suddenly getting up and pulling Sara with him. Still connected by the shared headphones, she had no choice but to follow along, being cautious not to go over the edge and take a swan dive to the ground floor.

Greg had stopped singing, which was a good thing for them, leaving Sara to enjoy the husky singing and mood of it all. But no sooner had she begun doing so did Greg surprise her with another result of his spontaneity. He seized her hand with his and laying another on her hip, he moved forward. Somehow he was making—what Sara could see were—half-cooked attempts at a waltz. "Wrong beat for this, Greg!" She tried letting him know but was abruptly interrupted by him twirling her and then dipping her low. He pulled her back ever so gently and gracefully into his strong hands again.

Not wanting to fall or trip, Sara placed her free hand on his shoulder and was already laughing at this silliness, both of them captured in the euphoria.

_My dear, we're slow dancing in a burning room._

She watched their feet weave intricately between each other without stumbling. Between her laughs, the insecurity built up bit by bit, afraid that she'd make a mistake to a dance she knew not the steps to. The numbers were counted in her head and her lips followed until Greg's hand lifted her chin, dragging her eyes from the ground to his face.

"Don't look down," he told her assuredly. "Just trust my lead."

_Baby, you're the only light I ever saw_.

Holding tighter to him, she nodded and licked her lips while she braced for the blind leap of faith.

Step by step they went, forward and sideways; the left replaced the right to the front, and then diagonally through. Right foot back crossing the promenade and a half circle turn. They glided across the coarse cement ground, brushing aside the small pebbles and sand as their shoes swept along the floor, all beneath the watchful eye of the black starless sky.

The last spin was slow and tender, almost over-exaggerated as they both took it to an end. He released one of her hands just to give her the freedom to soar out like a bird, but with a final and soft pull, he brought Sara back to him and into his arms. Like a picture-perfect moment, they stood there staring at each others flushed faces, watching as their smiles washed out and were replaced by uncertainty.

In her ears, the concluding chord faded off and miraculously, nothing followed suit as if even fate itself allowed the couple to comprehend the quiet moment. She blinked once and twice before taking her chances; she slipped her hands from his and lightly draped them over his neck so she could hug him close.

"Congratulations," she said, her voice muffled with her face half buried in his light blue shirt. Slowly, she lifted her head to lay her cheek on his shoulder.

"Didn't you already wish me?" his hands were tenderly wrapped around her waist.

"No."

Again they were moving to a dance but not like earlier, just small steps to the side. Shifting their weight on one foot then the other, going nowhere like reeds being caressed by an invisible breeze.

"I can't remember."

"I'm not surprised," Sara felt a lump form in her throat as she breathed in his cologne that lingered on his skin. "So many people wishing CSI Sanders level two the same congrats. After all, you're the success story of the lab rat cum CSI." She tried to smile again, or even a small laugh but nothing came out, only the threat of tears. "From the LVPD all the way to NYPD."

"Yeah," Greg sighed and she could feel his chest rise and fall. "All the way to New York. Already got a call from the supervisor there, some guy—Mac Taylor and nowhere like Grissom."

She sensed he was trying to lighten the mood, but why should he? This was already a grand occasion. "I mean, this is good—your promotion," she leaned back to gaze at him, to memorise his rugged but boyish looks for the very last time.

"I just wish it didn't mean having to move 2000 miles to the east."

"You're moving forward, Greg."

"I'm moving forward _without_ you."

The colourful lights of Vegas blurred further as the tears burnt in her eyes. Turning away, Sara blinked the emotions back and she unwrapped her arms from around him. What were the words she had wanted to say? That he'll be fine in New York or that they'll all still be here for him to visit?

I love you.

"I…" she began, and then wavered again. Who would've thought that the simple four letter word would bring so much doubt? "I…" barely getting past it, she shook her head and turned back to him, "…I'm going to miss you. We all will."

She couldn't say it—she just couldn't.

"Oh," he said flatly and took a deep breath in. "I'm gonna miss you guys too."

He smiled and she smiled; though both knowing they were hollow smiles that hid their true feelings.

Clearing her throat and recomposing herself, Sara pushed her hair back and returned the earphone to Greg. She held his hand and leaving the piece in his palm before helping him wrap his fingers over it. "Err…" she was thinking of another subject to transform the awkward moment—anything at all. "There's a guy named Danny there—Danny Messer. An old friend of mine, just say Sara said 'hi'."

"Okay."

Sara took a step back, and fell silent again, unsure of what else to say. This was certainly not how she had imagined a celebration would be like. "Okay," she echoed Greg's words.

Whatever space Sara had allowed between them, he erased it when he moved forward and leaned in. His lips were so close to hers that her mind had played the scene before it could happen.

But at the last moment it seemed that hesitation had ceased Greg as well.

He kissed her lightly on the cheek.

"Goodbye, Sara Sidle."

Without even looking at him, afraid that she'd breakdown and admit her feelings, she simply turned and was already walking away from him. She found the knob of the door that would lead her back to the real world and at the last minute, she glanced back at him.

There he stood alone, watching her move on.

The wind picked up again, and brought more cold chills to her body as her hair whipped her face. Nothing left to say, Sara whispered her last words to him before closing the door behind her.

"Goodbye, Greg Sanders."

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**The End**

Thanks for reading.  
-Cheers  
Jo


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